A Box Full Of Memories
by busybee6563
Summary: Kurt keeps a box under his bed with various bits and pieces that have significance to him. One day, he gets it out and picks through his favourites. Mostly just Kurt, but some Kurt/Blaine towards the end.


**A/N:** So this is an idea that came to me yesterday and I just had to write it. It's based around those 5/1 fics, but not massively explicitly. I really hope you like it, it's something a little different to what I usually do.

Basically, Kurt has a box under his bed with little mementos from his past in and he gets it out to look through one day. Set 5 or six months after Original Song. Some Klaine towards the end.

Enjoy, and please tell me what you thought in a review.

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><p>Kurt carefully shut the door to his room behind him, a mug of green tea in his hands. He'd made a pact a while ago with his dad to drink the stuff too if it meant that he would, knowing all the benefits it would have on his health. Kurt had taken a liking to the drink and was more than happy to drink the tea now. He was in a particularly nostalgic mood and so, after putting the cup down on the coaster that always sat on his bedside table, he reached under the bed and pulled out a shoebox that was covered in light blue wallpaper.<p>

He fingered one of the torn edges as he sat down, remembering a time years ago when he'd watched his mother and father paper the sitting room with paper of the same shade, his mother only laughing fondly when Burt had stumbled backwards and stuck his foot in the tub of wallpaper paste that had been next to him on the floor. With cautious hands, he pulled the lid from the box and set it beside him on the bed, crossing his legs and letting it rest on them, gazing at the contents, memories clouding his eyes as each item begged him to reminisce, to remember its own unique story and place in Kurt's heart.

But Kurt knew what he wanted to find. He had favourite objects - favourites of favourites - that his hands searched for first, moving a few old drawings from school and cards he'd received out of the way to find them.

The first he came across was a tiny yellow teddy that had been bought for him when he was just a few weeks old by his grandmother. Growing up, the two of them had been inseparable. Kurt had taken his 'Little Ted' everywhere with him; he'd gone on holidays to the beach with him, trips to the cinema, even once to the swimming baths when Kurt had managed to sneak the toy into his rucksack. Thankfully, his mom had found it before Kurt had been able to drench it in the chlorine filled water.

Stroking the soft ears, Kurt recalled how reluctant he'd been to put Little Ted in the washer, once insisting that the bear was scared of 'whoosh spinny things', only giving in when his dad offered the idea that Kurt sat by the washer and made sure Ted was alright while going through his apparently traumatic ordeal in the water. From that day, every time the teddy had been washed, Kurt had sat on his red stool, looking after his Little Ted. Kurt smiled as he thought back to all the hours he must've spent watching the yellow shape spinning round in the water. He pressed a kiss to the bear's head, gently inhaling the musky smell of home that only the toys that have been cherished seem to hold and returned the bear to the corner of the box in which it stayed.

The second thing he came to was from far more recently. Seeing the bent white plastic of the hospital wristband in his hand made Kurt's stomach twist uncomfortably, especially when he tilted it so the letters that made out his father's name were visible, the black print harsh against the light material it was stamped upon. The desperate memories of the nights and days he'd spent by Burt's bedside in the hospital, wishing he would be okay, were much too clear in Kurt's mind. But with the bad also came the good; the moment no more than a year ago when his father had opened his eyes and squeezed his hand was still fresh as day to him. Eyes fixed on the letters, he reminded himself why he'd put such a thing in the box. He'd kept it to remind him of the struggle they'd been through together, of the strange peace he'd found in the hospital room, of the adoration he had for his father and the strength of their relationship. He allowed himself a smile as he put it back in its rightful place.

The third took a little more finding. A moment passed by full of panic when Kurt thought he'd lost the old cassette that contained the sounds that encompassed his childhood, but it was there, tucked into the back corner in its plastic case. He pulled it out, exhaling in relief, flipping it around in his hands so he could read the list of tracks. It wasn't like he couldn't remember the exact order, though. He remembered sitting in the house of his Aunt and Uncle on a rainy afternoon with his Auntie, recording each song onto his 'special tape'. They were mostly show tunes; some from The Sound of Music, some from Rent, some from Les Miserables, even the odd one from Chicago and Cats.

The curly blue-inked script still stood strong on the paper inside the casing. He'd begged to write one of the names on the list, but his request had been gently denied, for fear he might make a mess of it. Kurt could appreciate the reasoning behind it now, even if, at the time, he'd felt it unfair; it was his tape, after all. Instead of putting it back in the box, he set it aside to listen to later on so he could immerse himself fully in the childhood memories the notes and melodies held.

Next, his hands pulled out a cream coloured envelope. The photos kept in here were the most precious photos in the world to him, which gave him reason to use the tiniest amount of pressure could possibly apply to pull them out, scared to death he might accidentally rip them. To someone else, they might have been photos of any fairly pretty woman with light auburn hair and a carefree smile, but to Kurt, she was the most important woman in his life. This was his mother, whom he loved and missed very much still. There were three photos in the envelope - the rest were kept in a photo album that Burt had in his bedroom.

The first photo was of the woman sat on the front step of their old house on the very first day they'd moved in, before Kurt was even born. Her hair was tied up messily and her clothes were a little rugged; the type of clothes you'd expect someone to be wearing after shifting boxes around all day. But that didn't matter to Kurt. She was smiling softly, a serenity about her as she perched, content, on the grey concrete which would be surrounded by flowers of her choosing as soon as she could get herself to a garden placed this one carefully to the back of his small collection and turned his attention to the next.

This photograph had two figures in, a four-year-old Kurt and the same brown-haired woman as before. This time, her face was alight with laughter, her eyes radiating happiness, animated even when captured in a still image. Beside her, Kurt guffawed, the same crinkle in his nose as in his mother's. He'd long forgotten what event had caused such a joyful reaction, but he still remembered the warmth his mother's laugh had brought him. It had been a hearty sound; rich and true. He placed this photo too at the back of the stack and her laugh resounded in his ears softly, almost as if he were in that moment once again.

The final picture was from Kurt's seventh birthday, the last of his birthdays that his mother had been alive for. He was sat in the middle of the photo, his parents stood behind him, his cousins and aunts and uncles in various positions surrounding the birthday boy. Everyone wore a party hat made of card and everyone was beaming. It was a happy photo and Kurt had his family surrounding him, which made it Kurt's favourite of the three.

He sat there staring at all the cheerful faces for a long while, his lips curving further upwards the longer his eyes rested on each pair staring back, even spotting his little yellow teddy clutched in his hands. Eventually, with the same care and attention with which he'd removed them, he put the photos back in their envelope, tucking them cautiously against the side of the box.

The final item of his favourites was the most recently added piece of the five and therefore, with some strange logic he couldn't really explain, he'd chosen to save it until last. Any other person would've thrown it away, but he'd attached a strong sentimental value to the slightly crumpled piece of paper he now held in his hand. Smoothing the few creases from the white paper, he read for the millionth time the words printed below the coffee chain's logo. Medium drip x1. Grande non-fat mocha x1. A simple receipt for some coffee that held no significance to anyone other then Kurt and Blaine.

It was from the first time they'd ever had coffee as a couple; their first proper coffee date. He could recall the awkwardness he felt for all of a minute when he'd met Blaine in the familiar little coffee shop on the outskirts of town. Though that feeling was extremely short-lived and all the tension and worry of getting this essential first date wrong that Kurt had felt in his stomach evaporated the moment Blaine had took his hand softly and smiled with sheer joy at him. They'd stayed there talking for so long that they had to be shaken from the imaginary bubble of each other they'd wrapped themselves in when it was closing time. The barista's face had been full of guilt for having to intrude on their private and intimate world. Yes, that had been a very successful first date.

After a moment, he put this back as well, and picked up the lid, about to conceal the visual remnants of his memories for another time when his eyes fell upon a small ball of something green and fuzzy. He smiled with recognition and picked it out from the bottom of the box. The green wool was stuck to a dark grey stone that fit into his palm easily. There were two googly eyes stuck just underneath the yarn that were peering at him. Rubbing the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface, he thought back to a week prior when he'd sat in almost the same position on the bed.

Blaine had sat across from him watching curiously, but not invasively, waiting patiently as Kurt pulled the very same shoebox from under his bed and took off the lid, searching. He'd felt strangely vulnerable in that moment, his whole life laid in that box for Blaine to see if he wanted. The thought had made him nervous, but also filled him with a peculiar contentedness. Whether that was because Blaine wasn't trying to intrude on his memories without asking or because it felt good to know that he could totally expose himself to the person who shared the bed with him at that moment and not be judged in any way, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a combination of both. Maybe he just got some curious thrill from letting himself be wide open for someone to see.

He'd pulled out the twin of the stone he now held, the only differences being the small variation in size and the colour of the wool that sat glued onto the rock.

"I want to tell you a story, Blaine," he'd said, voice quiet and calm. Blaine had simply nodded encouragingly and Kurt had launched into the tale of how the two stones had come to be in his possession and how they'd managed to acquire their hair and eyes.

He told Blaine of how it had been the first time he and his father had gone on holiday properly - stayed somewhere other than a relative's house overnight - since his mother had died. They'd stayed in a tiny self-catering cottage set on a hill deep in some countryside, Little Ted coming along too. There was a lake close by and the plan had been to go fishing, but their timing couldn't have been more off. It had rained every day they were there, and so they'd stayed inside all weekend. However, on the morning they were to leave, the rain slowed to a light drizzle and the two had allowed themselves half an hour walking round the lake together, sheltering from the water under the foliage. It was there that Kurt and his father had both picked up a stone, bringing it home with them. When they got back, Burt had got out his glue and they'd stuck the wool and eyes on together, Kurt laughing at how the small black spheres jiggled when he shook the pebble.

After he'd explained all this to Blaine, who listened intently, always interested in finding out about Kurt's past, he'd held out the embellished stone.

"I want you to have this one." Blaine had sat there staring at it in his outstretched hand for a moment before slowly reaching out and taking it from him, handling it as if it were made of the most precious material in the whole world. He took a second to stroke the black yarn Kurt and his father had glued on years previously before finally speaking, knowing better than to question Kurt's decision. It was obvious he'd thought long and hard about the decision to give Blaine a piece of his childhood, to share such a special object with him.

"Thank you, Kurt." His voice was gruff with sincerity and he'd extended his empty hand to cup Kurt's chin, fixing him with a thoroughly appreciative gaze before pressing their lips together carefully, an emotion shared between them that no words could quite express. The moment would be theirs to cherish forever, small and sacred to only them, but very, very real.

The memory, and feelings attached to the memory, resonated within him as he put the stone back in the box and carefully pushed it back under his bed. He chuckled when he straightened up, seeing the now cold mug of tea on the table. Head buzzing with old memories, he picked it up and left the room to make a fresh cup.


End file.
